


It Ain't Me

by xviichapters



Series: 'Weak' And Other Songs [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 17:38:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10223582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xviichapters/pseuds/xviichapters
Summary: Who's going to walk me through the dark side of the morning?





	

**Author's Note:**

> _  
> **Inspired by: Kygo ft. Selena Gomez - It Ain't Me**  
>  _

Soonyoung and Jihoon met when they were eight years old; Jihoon sitting in front of a giant puzzle, looking much too small for the chair he was on and frowning much too hard for an eight-year-old. Soonyoung loved him instantly.

“What are you doing?” Soonyoung had asked, as if it weren’t already obvious.

“A puzzle,” Jihoon replied, as if it weren’t already obvious.

“Can I help?” Jihoon had narrowed his eyes at him for four long seconds. Soonyoung knew because he counted. And then, “Ok.”

The rest, as they say, was history.

Except it wasn’t, not really. Soonyoung often thought back to that day with the puzzle – the day that started off their twelve-year long friendship, now pushing thirteen. If they could even make it that far. (Soonyoung hopes they’ll make it that far – no, he _prays_ they make it that far.)

Because somewhere along the lines they had stopped seeing eye to eye, he’s been staying out all night and Soonyoung’s ~~almost~~ had enough.

How he wishes he hasn’t had enough.

But Jihoon’s been drinking far too much, been gone for far too long, been so _mean_ that Soonyoung wasn’t sure whether he wanted to stick around for all that hurt. The thought brings a wry smile to his lips. Funny isn’t it, how he would be hurting either way? If he stayed, he would be hurt by Jihoon but if he went he would hurt _for_ Jihoon.

Jihoon,

Jihoon,

“Jihoon?”

“Yeah?”

“Which one do you think is the brightest star?”

They were seventeen now, lying in an open field in Jihoon’s hometown, the sky burning with fireballs of twinkling lights. The air was cold, but squashed together with hands intertwined and a certain thrumming dancing between them, they were warm.

Jihoon had been too busy rubbing circles into the back of Soonyoung’s hand to hear the question. “Mmm, what?”

Soonyoung sighed. “I asked, which one do you think is the brightest star?”

Jihoon scrunched his brows like it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. “You are, Hoshi. Hoshi means star in Japanese right? Then you’re the brightest star.”

Soonyoung blushed brightly. “Yeah it does but–”

“No buts,” Jihoon had somehow gotten up onto his lap and was now straddling his waist. “ _You’re_ the brightest star. The biggest star. The only star that matters.” Jihoon’s face was too close to his, his breath too warm, but Soonyoung found himself leaning into it. He heard and felt every single one of Jihoon’s breaths. His own started to sync together. “My star.” Jihoon murmured.

“Jihoon?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

They have been friends for twelve years and boyfriends for four of those twelve.

_I had a dream. We were back to seventeen, summer nights and the liberties. Never growing up._

The time on the clock reads 4:48AM. The knob turns; light spills out from the corridor outside. Just as quickly the door shuts and then there’s the heavy footfalls, the clattering of keys to the ground, of jacket, shoes, socks, littering down the hallway, creating a trail to the bedroom. The footsteps stop short in front of the couch.

He leans down and that’s when Soonyoung smells it; alcohol and smoke and weed. It wasn’t like he wasn’t expecting it. He should’ve been expecting it. He _did_ expect it. It was what happened next that finally snapped the metaphorical rubber band.

Jihoon kisses him softly, chastely, just once, on the forehead. He presses his lips there, not moving for a good four seconds. Soonyoung knows because he counts. And he pulls away and Soonyoung starts crying.

He cries and cries, the sobs rising into a crescendo that even Jihoon in his drunken stupor would hear. He cries until the cushion is wet and there’s snot dripping down his lips, mixing with his spit and he cries until his whole body is shaking from the _hurt_ of it all.

Jihoon hears.

Jihoon sees.

And Jihoon walks away, into their room – his room? – and hides under his covers, because he used to be able to do this, used to know exactly how to stop the crying, the hurt, but he has lost it, that talent, as surely as he lost the music and he lost his way, as surely as knew he would soon lose his one and only.

Jihoon hears and sees and hides.

And cries himself.

_Who's gonna walk me through the dark side of the morning? Who's gonna rock me when the sun won't let me sleep? Who's waking up to drive me home when I'm drunk and all alone? Who's gonna walk me through the dark side of the morning?_

Jihoon knows the answer to that and it isn’t Soonyoung.

(The answer is - no one.)

The next day the apartment is empty. Four years, nine months, seventeen days.

The odd numbers were setting him into a panic.

But the worst of it – the worst of it is the photo frames stripped bare, every single happy memory gone from the home they shared.

 _What about me?_ Jihoon crumples to the ground. _What did you leave me?_

Odd numbers, your clothes in the closet, your smell on the sheets, your shoes in the cupboard and the worst of us – the worst of us being _me._

_Who’s going to walk me through the dark side of this morning?_


End file.
